


there is a flower within my heart

by freloux



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Bicycles, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freloux/pseuds/freloux
Summary: A broken time machine and the fluff that ensues.





	there is a flower within my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElphabaInTheTARDIS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElphabaInTheTARDIS/gifts).



"Oh this is bad. This is very, very bad," H.G. mutters to himself. His time machine is starting to make a very unsettling creak-thump sort of noise, and one of the dials on the gauge is swinging wildly.

He's so frustrated and embarrassed because this was supposed to be such a perfect date. Literally and figuratively: Lenore is always asking _how does that machine work_ and _oh, can you take me sometime??_ so H.G. picked one of his favorite dates, the one where he first got published.

"What's wrong?" Lenore asks.

"Just hold on," is all H.G. can think to say as he steers the machine into a different time stream. "I think I know someone who can fix this."

***

They arrive in a workshop that is, if possible, even messier than H.G.'s. There are charts and diagrams everywhere, depicting the moon and planets and other mysterious systems. The diagrams are all over a large oak desk (at least it might be oak, it's a bit hard to tell) and spill out of rickety cabinets. Papers with rough-edged sketches detailing machines are tacked up on the walls. The rest of the available surface area is covered in little trinkets.

H.G. and Lenore float through it all carefully so as not to disturb what is clearly a very delicate ecosystem. Even so, a man with a very impressive beard looks up from the tiny model of a submarine that he was working on.

"This is Jules," H.G. says under his breath. Lenore looks up at him, eyes wide and confused at why H.G. said his name like that and with such a sour expression. H.G. doesn't have time to explain further, though, because Jules is now approaching them.

"Herbert! Lovely to see you again," Jules exclaims in a thick Nantes accent. He sets down the model and his tweezers onto the desk, which sends a flurry of papers spiraling down towards the floor. Then he draws H.G. into a tight hug. Just as H.G. is trying to extract himself, Jules pulls away and stares appreciatively at Lenore, who blushes uncomfortably. "And who is this lovely _mademoiselle_?"

He bows and Lenore extends her hand for him to kiss. H.G. looks on, spluttering. "This is Lenore, Jules. My _girlfriend_ Lenore."

"Oh dear," Jules says. He steps back. " _Pardonne-moi_ , I did not mean to intrude, Herbert."

Lenore giggles, but H.G. can almost feel the steam coming out of his ears. "For the millionth time, Jules, I told you not to call me that."

Jules waves a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, Herbert. Now what have we here?" he asks, assessing H.G.'s time machine. "Lovely work." He touches his hands over the gears and levers, murmuring appreciatively.

H.G. preens against his better judgement. But he gets back to reality when he notices that Jules is about to reach the faulty bit where the main gauge isn't connected to the right set of gears anymore. "See, that's the thing, that's why we're -"

Jules bites back a curse as a hiss of steam escapes, burning his hand.

"-here," H.G. finishes, too late.

"I see," Jules says. H.G. can detect a frown somewhere in his beard.

"It's the ..." H.G. explains, and they get into shop talk, then: bending around now that dial and this one, now adjusting the top left gear and the bottom right chain. H.G. is beginning to wish that he'd brought his goggles with him, but then Lenore would probably have teased him mercilessly for that.

Just as Lenore is starting to look a bit bored, Jules finally dusts off his hands and winces a little at the burn. "Right. I can get to work on this. It should be fixed in a couple of hours. You and that _belle femme_ can go enjoy yourselves."

"Thanks so much!!" Lenore calls over her shoulder as HG steers her out of Jules' workshop.

"Yes, thank you," H.G. mutters, shutting the door behind them. He blinks in the bright sun; it's such a change from the dark lair they left behind.

"What was that all about?" Lenore asks, squinting at him - though whether it's from the sun or suspicion, H.G. can't tell.

H.G. sighs. "It's a long story, to be honest," he confesses at last. "But I still maintain that Captain Nemo was _my_ idea."

Lenore shrugs in that way she sometimes does when author disagreements are really none of her concern. "Annnnyways, what should we do while we're waiting?"

It's a legitimate question: Jules lives in a nice suburb of what H.G. explains is Paris, and her eyes instantly light up at all the different possibilities. So they just start floating around, headed through winding city streets. H.G. watches Lenore out of the corner of his eye and smiles every time she exclaims over something new. It's all so busy and exciting here, so different from the quiet of Edgar's mansion out near Baltimore.

H.G. likes cities on the continent. They end up being romantic without even trying, and now is no exception. He and Lenore are floating along the Seine at this point, and there’s something about the wind stirring the water as boats glide past that stirs his imagination. So he pauses to kiss Lenore, because of course.

She grins and points to one of the boats. “Let’s go.”

In extremely limited French, combined with lots of hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions, the two of them manage to get ahold of one of the boats. It’s idyllic, really: just drifting along the Seine with the sun at their backs. Lenore takes a nap and H.G. almost falls asleep himself until he hears one of his favorite sounds: the noise and clank of machinery and excited shouting. He looks up to find a wrought iron lattice-work building that reaches up to the sky.

“Lenore!” H.G. exclaims. “Lenore, wake up!”

“Mhmmph?” she asks, stirring slowly. She finally wakes up fully and stretches, yawning.

He points to the structure. “Look. It’s the Eiffel Tower.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh my _God_ , it’s beautiful! Can we go see it up close?”

It must be quite a sight, H.G. reasons: a guy and a girl, holding hands as they float up off the boat to leave it empty on the river.

As they approach the tower, H.G. realizes that all the noise is because it’s serving as the entrance to some kind of event. There are all kinds of structures around the tower, with hundreds (maybe thousands) of people milling in and out. Several large signs explain that this is the _Exposition Universelle_. There’s a staircase leading up to a platform in the tower, so H.G. suggests that they float over there to take a look out over the city. From here, Paris looks tiny. Everyone moving along like so many ants marching. So many options and he barely even knows where to start. But that exhibition hall over there looks like a good choice.

Especially when, as they get closer, he realizes that it’s full of machines. H.G. starts mumbling in incoherent excitement. Lenore rolls her eyes and humors him as he floats along, gesturing wildly. He could spend hours here, but Lenore is already tugging his sleeve to point towards an ice cream stand. This time it’s easier to explain what they want.

The ice cream makes for a nice, cool contrast to the overwhelming heat that hits them when they get back outside. Lenore shields her eyes from the glare and sucks thoughtfully on her ice cream.

“Hey, what’s that thing?” she finally asks.

“What thing?”

She uses her ice cream to point towards a small machine with two wheels that’s propped up against a nearby tree. H.G. laughs. “That’s a bicycle.”

“A _whatsicle_?” Lenore asks, finishing her ice cream.

“A bicycle. Don’t tell me you never learned how to ride one.” H.G. is secretly (or not so secretly) delighted at the possibility of teaching Lenore something new. Usually it’s the other way around.

“Well, H.G., I didn’t even know what that thing was until now, so no,” Lenore replies sarcastically.

“True,” he acknowledges. “You know, every time I see an adult on a bicycle, I no longer despair for the future of the human race.”

“Whatever you say,” Lenore says. “Can you teach me how to ride this thing?” She floats over to the bicycle and tilts it away from the tree. She holds onto the handle bars as she stands next to it, giving the thing an experimental push back and forth and rutting the wheels into the earth.

“Sure,” H.G. replies. He slurps the last of his ice cream and wipes off his hands on his trousers. “But, um, you’ll need pants for this.” He glances warily at the fluffy dress Lenore is wearing.

“Oh, this thing?” Lenore asks, gesturing down at the layers of skirts she’s got on. “Don’t worry, I’m always prepared for any weird situation I might find myself in. Because, as you probably know by now, being a ghost involves _lots_ of weird situations. Here.” She turns around and gestures again, inviting him to help her out of her dress.

H.G. looks around furtively and undoes all her buttons. Her dress slides away, revealing a corset and a set of long bloomers. She stuffs the dress into the basket on the front of the bicycle and puts her hands on her hips. “Now what?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Um,” he gulps, blushing.

“Stop _staring_ ,” Lenore giggles.

“It’s kind of difficult.” H.G. replies. “Ahem. Ok, so, you just need to sit down and hold onto the handlebars – “

Lenore attempts to do so and promptly falls over. “Ouch!” she exclaims, dusting herself off and floating back upright.

“Here, let me,” H.G. says. He gently takes the bicycle away from her and gets on it himself. Then he shows her how he’s moving his legs, propelling the bicycle backwards, forwards, looping around the tree. “Look, I know that as a ghost you have to concentrate a bit harder to do things, but this is one that you just have to kind of – let go of, if that makes sense.”

“Hmm.” Lenore doesn’t seem convinced, but she decides to give it another go. When H.G. hands off the bicycle back to her, she gets on a bit more confidently. This time she makes a straighter line, back towards the crowd at the _Exposition Universelle_ , before toppling back off the bicycle.

But Lenore is never one to give up easily, and before long she’s making longer and longer runs back and forth. H.G. claps as she returns to the tree. “Nice work.”

She floats off the bicycle and bows. “Thanks.” Then she gets a devilish gleam in her eye and looks over to another bicycle that’s been discarded next to the bridge a few feet away. “Race you.”

“Oh, if you insist,” H.G. smirks.

They cycle around the bridge as a warm-up, then they’re off, making a path along the Seine. H.G. figures that this is an even better way to see the river: laughing with his girlfriend as they race onwards. He wins, but only by a hair.

“Good game,” he says, giving her a little kiss.

She smooches him back and the two of them abandon the bicycles for another couple to find. “You think Jules is done with the machine by now?”

H.G. groans. “I certainly hope so.”

Lenore takes her dress back out of the basket and surveys how wrinkly it is. It seems to be in reasonably good shape. Honestly, H.G. can never really tell the difference, but he helps her into the dress regardless.

They float back to Jules' workshop and find him still tinkering, but at least it looks like he’s nearly finished. “You see, it was a problem with the…” Lenore thinks that it translates roughly to “mumbledygook,” but H.G. seems satisfied with the answer.

Lenore picks up a little model airplane while the two of them finish up. She spins its front propeller as a distraction until it snaps off. “Whoops,” she whispers, hiding it behind a stack of ridiculously thick books. She doubts Jules will even notice.

“All right, then, Herbert,” Jules says, giving one of the gears a final spin. “Looks like that’s it.”

“I guess so,” H.G. replies in a tone that suggests begrudging respect. “Thanks for helping out.”

“Anytime, _mon homme_ , anytime,” Jules replies, shaking his hand. He bows towards Lenore, since H.G. is already half-tugging, half-pushing her towards the machine before Jules can try anything. She grins up at him – he really needn’t worry.

Jules waves goodbye as the two of them disappear, hand in hand. It’s then that H.G. realizes that maybe this was a perfect date after all.

**Author's Note:**

> That was a real H.G. Wells quote.  
> Title from the song "Daisy Bell" by Harry Dacre.


End file.
